


Love is a four-letter word

by dabs_into_oblivion



Series: ineffable husbands [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Femme Crowley (Good Omens), Light Angst, Love Confessions, Nonbinary Aziraphale (Good Omens), Other, Pining, Post-Canon, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabs_into_oblivion/pseuds/dabs_into_oblivion
Summary: Really just a shameless self-insert. Read the tags.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: ineffable husbands [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713622
Kudos: 2





	Love is a four-letter word

They can feel her eyes on them as they eat and it makes them self-conscious. Crowley never eats anything, only drinks cocoa and coffee and alcohol and _watches_ Aziraphale from behind their dark glasses. It isn't unpleasant, exactly, but it makes them feel things that they're definitely not supposed to feel. Things that have been threatening to ruin everything since the moment Crowley ducked under Aziraphale's wing on top of the wall of Eden.

They finish their mouthful and, regretfully, set down their fork. Of course they're not full -- angels have bottomless stomachs -- but they need to go home, need to be somewhere where they can think about those eyes without the intensity of said eyes being trained on their every move. Dabbing at their mouth with an immaculate napkin, they say, "Thank you for this, Crowley; I won't say it was nice of you, that being a four-letter word, but, well, it has been nice."

"Yes," drawls Crowley with a maddening almost-smile, "how's temptation feel, angel?"

"Oh." They smile, a little anxiously, not quite sure to what extent she's joking. "Well, you've said you can't tempt anyone who doesn't want to be tempted." Even from behind the glasses Crowley's eyes are as molten as Hellfire. Aziraphale tears their gaze away and occupies themself with the bill.

"I can give you a lift," Crowley offers.

"What? Oh -- oh, that won't be necessary, my dear. I'll walk. I could use the exercise."

Crowley's eyes narrow behind the sunglasses, but she says nothing.

\--------

They dust the entire shop. Dust it again. Make tea. Drink tea. Go for a walk. When they come back, there's a message on the answering machine. They ignore it.

When was the last time they saw Crowley without those sunglasses? She wasn't wearing them under that helmet she wore as the Black Knight. Aziraphale settles into their armchair with a cup of cocoa and allows their eyelids to drift downward. Crowley's hands . . . they've always had lovely hands. What would those hands feel like? What would her gaze feel like? What would they kiss like?

Aziraphale jerks, sitting up. It's half past two in the morning and their cocoa is cold.

\--------

They were bound to run into each other sooner or later. Aziraphale just wasn't expecting it to be this soon.

"Nice day," says Crowley, grinning.

"Y-yes. Nice day." Aziraphale chastises themself inwardly. Why can't they just act normal?

Crowley leans imperceptibly closer. "Everything all right, angel?"

They wish she wouldn't do that. "Everything's splendid. Perfect. Must be going. Wouldn't want to keep any customers waiting!" They scamper off in as dignified a manner as they can while maintaining the greatest possible speed.

Crowley watches them go, feeling cold even though the sun is shining directly on her.

\--------

The bell on the door of the bookshop jingles.

"Terribly sorry," says Aziraphale apologetically, "but we're actually closed at the moment."

"Angel, it's me." Crowley steps around a half-finished display of books on procrastination, and she looks . . . magnificent. Her hair is long again and she isn't wearing her sunglasses and Aziraphale thinks they might faint.

Somehow they manage not to. "Crowley! Lovely to see you. Would you like some tea?"

"I would like," says Crowley in a tone that is both menacing and gentle, "to know why you've been avoiding me, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale opens their mouth. "A-avoiding you?"

Crowley is coming nearer. Unconsciously Aziraphale backs away from them until the back of their legs hit their desk.

"Avoiding me." Crowley is close now, close enough that she could reach out and touch Aziraphale's cheek. The angel turns their face to one side at the thought, miracling their blush away. "Ever since Armageddon, you haven't been answering any of my calls."

"There's been no reason to!" Aziraphale protests. "The Arrangement isn't necessary anymore!"

"And you mean to tell me that the Arrangement is the only reason you've spent time with me?" Crowley whispers, their face so, so close to Aziraphale's.

The angel swallows. Could she -- no. Even if Crowley felt the same, Hell would kill her if they found out, and Aziraphale couldn't be responsible for that. Unwilling to lie in words, they simply nod, eyes downcast.

"You're lying," hisses Crowley. They lean over Aziraphale, hands on the desk, bodies centimeters apart. "You can't even say the words, can you? You lied to God about a flaming sword but you don't even have the guts to properly lie to me about this."

Aziraphale brings their hands up to Crowley's chest as if to push the demon away. "You must know that everything I do, everything I have done, is for your protection and your safety!"

"I don't need you to protect me," sighs Crowley. "I've been doing that myself for six thousand years. I need you to be honest with me."

Aziraphale swallows, looking down. "Very well. I do . . . care for you. Not that I have ever expected you to feel the same," they hasten to add. "I just want you to be happy." They slump back against the desk, hands straightening their cuffs and tie before dropping to their sides.

Crowley slips her hands into Aziraphale's and, as the angel looks up in surprise, dips her head and kisses them.

"You make me happy, angel."


End file.
